


Prove it to me

by MarauderChaos



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Edmund Pevensie-centric, Golden Age (Narnia), Guilt, Nightmares, POV Edmund Pevensie, POV Lucy Pevensie, Poor Edmund, Regret, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21663964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarauderChaos/pseuds/MarauderChaos
Summary: There was always something to prove, you could see in his eyes, especially during winter. He was always outside during winter, you may expect him to hate it with everything it came to represent and you’d be right, he does hate winter. But for him that makes it all the more important. He’s out there making sure everyone has enough, making sure everyone has a place to sleep; making sure nobody goes hungry or runs out of medication.Or the one where Edmund is still working things out, still trying to redeem himself even though he doesn't need to.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	Prove it to me

**Author's Note:**

> All Rights Go To C.S Lewis

**A/N: I have no idea if I'm going to continue with this or not, it was just an idea I had, I'm up for ideas. Hopefully I'll update my Harry Potter ones soon, I just need to find the motivation to do so. Sorry for any mistakes, this was written quite quickly, hope you enjoy XD**

There was always something to prove, you could see in his eyes, especially during winter. He was always outside during winter, you may expect him to hate it with everything it came to represent and you’d be right, he does hate winter. But for him that makes it all the more important. He’s out there making sure everyone has enough, making sure everyone has a place to sleep; making sure nobody goes hungry or runs out of medication.

Many a time he has stripped himself bare down to a thin shirt, trousers and a leather vest – as protection on Peter’s orders – and rides outside all day. After awhile he stops flinching as he steps outside, down the castle steps, he stops shivering with each wave of biting cold wind and he stops wincing with each jostled movement of his hands as they start to seize in the falling snow. 

There is nothing anyone can say or do to stop him. Edmund always had the strongest immune system out of all of us, he braves each winter with a reckless idiocy usually only reserved for Peter in battle. Despite multiple attempts from Peter and Susan, he always manages to sneak out before anyone is up, and arrive back without being seen.

I understand how my brother feels, maybe in a different way, but I understand none the less. We have been ruling Narnia for six years now, I just passed my fourteen birthday; something I have always longed to reach and yet now I find myself wishing to be a little bit younger.” With age comes with responsibility” was something Dad always used to tell us to get us to do chores, well, to get Peter and Edmund to do chores, and I think I finally understand what he means.

There is so much I have to do in a day, nothing I’m not used too, I am a Queen after all. But there is lee time to relax with each year, I often wonder how my siblings manage everything they do. That is not to say I’m not treated equally, I am of course, however we all have different roles wherein sometimes my days are more strenuous than others and their days have a crammed schedule.

Despite our equality, Edmund and I are still the younger too, we still have moments where my brother or an ambassador forget we are rulers and treat us as children. There are times Peter has pulled rank on Edmund, usually to be fair to stop him doing something stupid, but Ed never has that chance. I often find my brother and I have more to prove than Peter and Susan, maybe because we are the youngest. Or maybe because Edmund made some mistakes, but then Peter certainly isn’t an angel and nobody aims to put pressure on us. I think for him, the pressure is inside.

Peter has the pressure of the promise he made to mum all those years ago, he feels as though he has to protect us, even when we can protect ourselves. Susan has the pressure of her image, she has suitors left right and centre, she looks beautiful because that’s what everyone is looking for. I have pressure of my heart, I’m always expected to be kind and forgiving, I’m always expected to show love yet there are simply day’s where I do not want to.

Edmund has the pressure of redemption.

* * *

Gentle flakes as delicate as little white feather fallen from doves hatched in the sky, a cold wind comes with it, and there are nights where everyone shivers.

I hate it, I hate it so much. When snow starts to fall there is a fire in my blood, boiling and cursing with every whisper from her ice cold lips that breath against my neck and in my ear. She is there when the snow first falls to the last flake on the ground. There are days easier than others, where she doesn’t scream from between the trees with each step and crunch in the snow, where she doesn’t slice through my skin with a sharp steel blade with every hand I shake, where she can’t touch me in front of the fire, surrounded by my family and she is stuck on the outside muted by the laughter and smouldering hugs.

And then there are days where everything hurts, each inhale of air into my lungs burns my throat, each word slipping from my tongue seems icy and cold, each jostle flings my insides in and out like some roller-coaster until I’m and tangled mess of limbs, snow and her eyes reflected in the mirror. There are days where eating is a chore, for everything tastes so sour, there are days where no warmth will seep through no matter what company or what fire; there are days where the crown on my head is too heavy to wear that it scalds my skin and cuts into my head like thorns. There are days where nothing works.

So it becomes a routine to take away my pain, I take away others pain. It began first simply seeking forgiveness, a way of redemption, but now it is not for my benefit, now I have little care for the pain that rocks through my body every time I step from the doors of the palace and pull myself up on to Phillip. I do not care because I know it’s all in my head, I do not care because although it hurts, I think sometimes I deserve it. Sometimes I do not care because it is too much of a chore, trying to smile even becomes nothing more than a grimace. I deserve it for my own redemption. It is no longer about helping others for my gain, but simply because it is the right thing to do, I am no longer driven by my own needs so much so it is easy to push away the pain until nightfall.

The night is the worst, but don’t tell Peter that. Even back in England it was the worst, with each crack of lightning and each thunderous bang from bombs clouding the sky. I used to be proud; I used to wish to follow my father into the sky. But I know warfare now more than any man could ever begin to imagine, now I wouldn’t wish that life on anyone. The night is the worst. She comes in the day, but they come in the night.

It always starts with mum, I always remember pushing her away, not even letting in a kiss at the station and there is a flooding every time. But this dream in different, because this time I’m walking towards her, through the clouds of smoke and soldiers, reaching for her, holing my arms out to tell her how sorry I was, give her the love she deserved to receive back then. But she doesn’t let me, she pushes me back with a slap, she doesn’t want me– she knows what I did. My father appears by her shoulder, but there is neither care nor love in his eyes, only a gun in his hand. He never speaks, he never does anything, and he just turns his back and walks away. They do not hear my pleads, breaking like screams from my lips.

Then comes Lucy and Susan, hand in hand, their faces as white as snow and their once silk gowns stained with ever growing pools of blood. They walk in circles around, their hair tousled and knotted, and when I get a glimpse of their backs, there is always a dagger plunged into their skin. They say things, through voices that aren’t really them, but they keep speaking and it still hurts, because with every insult and every ice cold laugh they die a little more. They stay, but their faces fade from sight for a little while, replaced with Mr Tumnus, Giles and Phillip. I always know what they are going to say I could recite it with my eyes closed; I always know how they blame me. It’s like this incessant chant only I can understand it’s almost like a song. But they are nothing compared to the last two visitors, first of which is Oreius. Our mentor, our guidance, our warrior, our teacher but most of all, our friend. And he kicks me, he hits me, he runs me through with his word and I feel every bit, every gut wrenching scream wrestled from my lips and every torrent of pain pushed from my lungs, but like always it’s the words that hurt the most.

Peter is last. Peter is always last. Why? Because he is everything I want to be from the beginning. He didn’t make the mistakes I did, he didn’t hurt everyone he loved, he didn’t get other killed with his actions but most of all, he didn’t forget how to care, he wasn’t selfish and only thought about his own pain. He wasn’t selfish. He was everything I strive to be and more, but I would never tell him that, he wouldn’t believe me. And he never does in those dreams, he never believes every apology I plead or every tear that runs down my face, he doesn’t believe in me.

I never scream when I wake up, not anymore. No. There was a time, not long after our coronation where I would, and they would come running. But they lost as much sleep as I did if not more, so now I don’t scream because it’s not fair. Instead I get up and I walk out on to the balcony and I sit, sit in the stream of gently pouring snow under the moonlight and I think and I work and I talk to Aslan even if he cannot hear, because I know he has forgiven me and will always forgive me, even when I don’t deserve it.

It’s hard, so incredibly hard to be The Just King. Because everyone knows my story, everyone expects me to make up for it to them, even if my actions didn’t affect them, my story is Jadis’s story, I am the Just King but I’m only seen as my mistakes and Aslan’s love, not me. I have to prove myself to everyone. But that may just be how I see myself, I do not know, it’s hard to look in the mirror sometimes.

Overtime I think I did, I know for some people I did, after all Phillip is one of my closest friends, if not the closest and in the beginning all’s he knew me as was the child who betrayed his siblings and called him “Horsey.” General Orieus didn’t trust me, even after the coronation and I never blamed him for that, though he apologised once for mistrust I never accepted it because it wasn’t needed. What is there to blame? For all he knew I could have turned around and killed Peter whilst he slept.

I think as the years start to roll together, and the people around you watch you grow and change, trust and respect isn’t an issue, you don’t need to prove yourself to them any longer. But for me, I always need to prove myself, to anyone, everyone and myself. To prove I won’t fall back on past mistakes, to prove I earnt my forgiveness, to prove I do deserve it.

There will come a point where I will find peace, I hope, but for now redemption is what keeps me going when winter comes. So I’ll do what I have to do and they can’t stop me.

I’ll prove myself.


End file.
